


till i'm just a silhouette

by northsoutheastmess



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Angst, Angst and Romance, Author Projecting Onto GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, Drugs, Goodbyes, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Internal Conflict, Late Night Conversations, Literally no comfort, Love, M/M, No Smut, POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Pining GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Break Up, References to Drugs, Romance, Sad, Sad Ending, Slice of Life, The Author Regrets Nothing, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, non Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northsoutheastmess/pseuds/northsoutheastmess
Summary: George broke up with Dream two months ago for good reason. He knew it was the right thing to do, for both him and Dream, but when Dream calls him in the middle of the night, lonely and wasted, every single feeling he's been trying to hold back comes flooding right back in. He knows he did the right thing. He knows he needed to let go. So why is it so hard to get Dream out of his head? And why does it hurt so fucking much?orGeorge faces the truth.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	till i'm just a silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> TW: drug use and a reference to drinking
> 
> basically i just projected onto george because writing is my coping skill. also, the fic's whole vibe was inspired by the songs somebody else by the 1975 and silhouette by simon louis.
> 
> disclaimer: this fic is not a reflection upon the content creators themselves. this is a work of fiction using their characters/personas. enjoy! <3

When Dream calls at 1 AM to say he misses him, it’s everything George does and doesn’t want to hear.

The phone feels heavy in his sweaty, trembling fingers, and it’s all he can do to not drop it as he brings it to his ear. He already regrets pressing the accept call button—he knew it was a bad idea, but his heart was aching too hard to resist—but there’s nothing he can do now. Dream’s staggered breathing echoes on the other side, mixed with the sound of shuffling blankets and distant traffic.

He can’t bring himself to talk first. His mouth feels like cotton, and even though this is all he’s wanted for the past two months, his jaw can barely open. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting the tears fall out. For some reason, it feels like breathing will disturb the fragile silence, and he can’t seem to get out a single exhale.

When Dream finally speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “Hello?”

George’s eyes fly open. God, he sounds so fragile, so _helpless_ , like a little lost child. Small. Alone. Afraid. George is used to loud Dream, outgoing Dream, always-so-sure-of-himself Dream, and that one word alone is enough to make him shatter.

“Dream,” he whispers, voice raspy from disuse. He cringes and clears his throat. “Hi.”

“ _Georgie!_ ” The relief in the blond man’s voice is evident. So is the fact he’s high. George has no idea what the fuck he took, but he sounds completely wasted, and immediately his heart drops to his stomach. Of course he’s high. Of course he’s not calling in the middle of the night to apologize for everything and beg George to come back and have a serious conversation for once in their goddamn lives. Of course. How could he have expected such a paramount task?

“Georgeeee,” Dream slurs. There’s not a thought behind those words. “I mis’d you so much, Georgie.”

If it’s possible, his heart sinks lower. Maybe to his spleen or appendix—something useless like his feelings. God, he’s never felt so much in one moment than right now. His heart wants to burst out of his chest, his hands are shaking, his stomach feels like a fucking pit—why can’t there be a switch to turn off emotions? He hates them. They’re useless. If he didn’t have to deal with his stupid feelings, he wouldn’t have picked up this stupid call in the first place. He’d be on a normal sleep schedule, waking up happy and rested, not with swollen eyes crusted with dried tears. He’d be able to walk past the coffee shop Dream used to work at without wanting to break down. He’d be able to hang out with friends without feeling Dream’s absence like a missing limb. He’d be able to _live_.

But even though he knows he needs to hang up and move on, George wants so badly to tell him everything he’s been holding back. _I miss you too. I love you. I wish I hadn’t left. I’m glad I did leave. This is too much for me. I can’t deal with this shit. I’ve cried every night for the past week. I got drunk at a party and made out with a random girl, but all I could think about was you. I miss your hugs. I miss your kisses, the way you’d grab my hips and lift me up so I could reach your lips. I miss when I’d crawl into bed at 2 AM after working and you’d be waiting for me, just so you could hold me while you slept. You make me want to die. I’m afraid you’re gonna die. I’m so scared. Why can’t you be here?_

But instead, he bites his tongue and asks, “Why did you call me?”

He’s unsure if Dream even hears him, because he mumbles, “I want you in my arms, George. I miss you. I miss your lips. I miss your voice. I miss—”

“Dream.” George cuts him off quickly. If he lets him go on, he’ll just end up crying more. “Why did you call me?”

Dream is silent for a moment. He hears this time. “I mis’d you, so I wan’ to call you. I miss you so much, George.”

 _He’s high_ , George reminds himself. _He’s high._ He closes his eyes again, and for a moment he thinks about what this would be like if he was sober. If Dream was sober, and he called and said something as simple as, “I’m sorry,” and they could just fucking talk things out for once, they wouldn’t be separated by a phone. They’d be in bed together, their arms and legs intertwined, and George would be content. He’d be happy.

 _Shut up_ , the rational part of his brain says. _You know that’s not true_.

It’s right, he’s just ignoring the truth. He wouldn’t be happy. He'd just be in the same toxic relationship, with the same bad things happening, and they’d end the same goddamn way. Dream wasn’t about to have some miraculous epiphany where he realized he had to take responsibility of his life for once. And George had to accept that he needed to let go.

“Dream, I should go,” he attempts. It doesn’t even sound reproachful. Just desperate. “You’re high.”

Dream completely ignores the first statement and cruises straight to the second. “Oh, come on now,” he giggles. “I didn’t do anything, Georgie.”

 _That’s a lie_ , George thinks bitterly. He tries to remind himself this is the reason they broke up, but his heart doesn’t care. It beats erratically in his chest, just like the first time they kissed. _Fuck_.

“Georgie?” Dream sounds worried, but it’s distant and gleeful, like he’s floating in the clouds, not in bed on the phone with his ex-boyfriend.

No, George thinks. Not clouds, because clouds are just droplets of water suspended in the air. If Dream was floating up there, all he’d do is fall through and crack like an egg on the hard asphalt. He’s not actually happy. He’s just stoned.

“Why do you only call me when you’re high, Dream?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, it’s both a burden and a relief. He finally said it. He finally stood up for himself. But at the same time, he knows the answer, and once he hears it from Dream, he can’t pretend anymore.

George closes his eyes. He needs to let go.

Dream is silent. When he speaks, he still slurs, but the giddiness isn’t childlike anymore. It’s just sad.

“I guess… it’s hard t’ talk to you when I’m not.”

There it is. The thing George has known all along, the thing he’s tried to pretend wasn’t real. But it is. He can’t ignore the truth anymore, however much he wants to, however much it hurts. He can’t hold on to this relationship. He can’t save Dream. He can’t even save himself. But he can let go, and move on, and be okay.

George takes a deep, shuddering breath and decides to do the hardest thing he’s ever done. Say goodbye.

“I have to go, Dream.”

“Oh.” He sounds far away, like he’s barely there. “Okay, then. I love y—”

George ends the call, and he finally unravels.

**Author's Note:**

> if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! i really appreciate it. if you liked, please leave a kudos and a comment! they're much appreciated. thank you again!


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